Memories
by Evilsingingllama
Summary: When Luke comes home struck-dumb, it's up to Flora to get him talking again! Sometimes things are linked with the hidden memories of the past. Contains mild/major spoilers. T for later chapter peeps, and because I'm paranoid.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **_Mowam peeps! It's me again! Heey... Don't cry! That's not nice! Annyyways... I'm a big fan of those stories with lots of little sub-plots that you have to work out (take 'Holes' for example. Clever little sub-plots there!) but... Because I'm writing, it may get a tad confusing... Or just too easy to figure out. I'm still trying to get a nice writing style *attacks self* so I'm reading good-knows how much and practising writing a LOT more. Which reminds me... I only have two chapters of 'The Wee Free Men' to read, so I'll go read that... Laters peeps!_

_~Seriously, three hours later~_

_Okay, I finished ma book (and watched a little telly an' that) and now I'm gonna start writing this fanfic! It's not that interactive (like my Q&A) but I still want ya to think! Just like the game, this fanfic has mysteries that have to (and will!) be solved! I actually had to PLAN OUT and BRAINSTORM this fanfic, just so it was clever *groans*. In my brainstorm, I have planned out nine mysteries, though I may add more if I get some ideas! Anyways, on with the prologue! If you have read 'The Wee Free Men' then Mrs. Millare's accent should remind you of somethin'. I don't know why... But I seem to be hurting Luke a lot more in fanfics now..._

**Memories**

**Chapter I ~ Prologue**

Flora kicked off her floral-patterned bed covers in distress. It was hot, just too hot! It was Spring is well, since when did you have heat strikes and draughts in _Spring_. She bet Luke was having fun, in the fancy college houses up at Cambridge, were it was apparently cooler. The Professor's house was lovely, and nice decorated with vases and the odd painting, but the college house's were _so_ much nicer, and did she mention fancier? Also, the college house's were settled just outside the undisturbed city of Cambridge, surrounded by fluffy cloud-like sheep that glided past on the green sea, with the occasional sheepdog zooming past like a beautiful shooting star. '_They're not sheepdogs! They're Border Collies!'_ Luke corrected when they first came to visit. Flora didn't like it when Luke was a smart-arse, but then who did?

Layton's house was in the suburb, a fifteen minute walk from the city. No sheep floated gracefully across the meadows, unless you counted the dirty, straggly one's on the city-farm. No _Border Collies_ zoomed across, unless you counted the mangy, flea-bitten mutt's that were forced to hunt for food. The Professor's house wasn't the biggest in the world, he moved there when he got his first job as a class-assistant, he wasn't even a _professor_ then. It was only meant for him. When Luke came to stay –and ended up living there – Hershel had to change the only guest room into Luke's room. It was even worse when Flora came to live with him. He had to hire a small team of builders to build her a room above the kitchen, though of course, building takes time; Flora slept in the Professor's room, while the Professor slept on the squashy sofa in the living room. At least furniture wasn't a problem, Flora had plenty from her old quarters at Reinhold Manor, so Layton didn't have to get into even more debt.

There was also the house-keeper (who didn't live too far away), a perplexing woman called Mrs. Millare, who spoke with a peculiar Scottish accent. Although she could be strict, she was still a delightful woman, and was a good 'mother' or 'grand-mother' figure to the two children. She left though, when she moved to a quiet city called Leicester. _"Crivens! I want to see ye children agen, you ken?" _she laughed on her last day. Some words like 'Crivens!' and 'ken' (which is what she said instead of 'know') were just words she randomly concocted, unless she read then from a book... _"Aye! You two will bae big 'n' strong one dae!"_

A frightful, yet wonderful person.

A sharp tone filled the air, echoing around the silent, sleepy-headed house. The noise was at first unrecognisable, quickly eroding away the peaceful silence, however after a few moments of the dreadful sound, anyone could tell what it was. The telephone. Flora swung her legs off the side off her bed and padded into the landing, and began descending the staircase and into the hall. They hardly got phone-calls, especially at this time! The Professor must have been working late in his study, he was still in his orange shirt and dark brown trousers when he answered the noisy machine. It was needless to say he was, of course, wearing his top hat.

"Hello?" said Layton in his ever-calm voice. There was a pause. "Yes... Yes..." Another pause, Layton frowned slightly. "I understand, yes. Goodnight" The Professor hung up and fell onto the sofa, rubbing his forehead; a strange grotesque expression was on his face. Fear; or was it sadness? His signature hat had fallen over his eyes, making only his lips the only thing to read. He slipped on his also dark brown jacket and headed for the door. He stopped when he realised Flora was there in her nightie.

"Are you going somewhere?" she said quietly, leaning one side on the oak door. Though the silence was disturbed, she was hoping it would wash over her again. This silence was only awkward.

Layton blinked. "That was the land-lord of Luke's college house. There was an accident and I have to bring him home immediately. If you remind me in the morning, I will inform you if I know more on the subject."

* * *

**~Mystery #1~**

_**The Accident**_

_There was a so-called accident at Luke's college house, but what on earth could the details of this accident be? What sort of accident needs you to go some-place else immediately?_

* * *

Flora nodded slowly, the information was sinking into her head, turning into memories. It was such a short phone conversation, the Professor wouldn't even know what this accident was. "I understand... Will you be gone all night?"

"I hope not, my dear. It is probably nothing to fret over. Try and get back to sleep."

"Goodnight then, Professor." Flora climbed back up the stairs and into her room. She heard the front door click shut and Hershel's shoes on the gravel, along with the Laytonmobile's engine as it was brought to life. Violet, the tabby cat which Luke fondly named after her purple kitten eyes, was basking in the clean moonlight cast on Flora's bed. Flora nudged the cat slightly, hoping she would curl up more like the cats in the children's books. "Move up, Letty."

The cat glared at Flora with her green no-longer-kitten eyes as if to say, _you weren't using the bed a few moments ago. Why do you want it now? _Flora sighed and picked up the bed-covers, which had been lying on the floor ever since she kicked them off, and threw it over the cat. Letty miaowed (though it sounded more like _mmmraaah_!) lividly despite the fact she liked being under the covers, and darted onto the windowsill, where she licked her paws happily.

Although the Professor had said _'It is probably nothing to fret over.'_ Flora found herself nothing but fretting. If only she was a cat, not caring about anything – or anyone – else, worshipping the moon's crisp rays. If only, if only.

**A/N:**_Tadaa!? So whatcha think? I based 'Letty' on my real cat ^.^ She's older than me by six months XD This is the part when I beg for reviews and constructive criticism (I only ever go one... Thank you Nutella's Biggest Fan!! *gives... Nutella!*) so... PLEASE GIVE ME CONSRUCTIVE CRITISM AND REVIEWS!!!! I'll let you poke my scar :D Don't worry... It's on my face. *points above right eyebrow* Oh yeah, I also want you to take a wild guess at mystery #1!!_

**REVIEW THAT THANG!**


	2. The Scent of Foxgloves

_**A/N**: No constructive criticism!? Why children? WHY!? I have to improve my writing my own way then... By reading even more!! This time it's A Hat Full of Sky and Fruits Basket (Okay, so that's a manga!) XD!! This fanfic will be CRUSHED by the time PL3 and 4 come out, since I made up Luke's past (you have to admit, it's fun to do so!), but I did use his father's real name! I'm thinking about bringing Claire into this fiction. Layton doesn't play a huge part in this story (well he does, only in the memory parts!), so I guess it wouldn't hurt. I JUST noticed that Flora is kinda the main character! It's kinda weird 'cause I'd much rather choose Luke or Layton before her. ANYWAYS! On with the story!!_

**Disclaimer: I don't own Professor Layton... _Or do I?! _I don't, I don't.**

**Memories**

**Chapter II ~ The Scent of Foxgloves**

_It was bright beyond brightness._

_Luke lay there, almost paralysed with thoughts. From somewhere in the brightness echoed the sounds of his heavy breathing. Part of him wanted to move. He couldn't though. There was an invisible weight covering him. It didn't hurt him; just restricted his movements. He wanted to cover his eyes however his arms couldn't move that far. His eyes began adjusting to the light, it no longer burned, though when he blinked they stung like venom._

"_Luke."_

_He gasped as he sat up, shocked by the lack of pressure. The voice seemed to have lifted the weight off his chest, but he didn't dare move any more in case the burden came crashing back down on him. His body loosened slightly, relaxing from it's previously tense form. Around him the grass rippled in the whispering winds. There was a cosy, white cottage at the edge, facing a battered bridge to a forest. He knew where he was. He didn't know how he got there. He didn't know why he was there. Then it struck him; he was dreaming._

"_Luke." _

_The voice came again. It wasn't a frightening voice of any sort, it was filled with kindness and spoke softly. A woman's voice. And there was a woman, owner of the voice. She wore a white dress that was brightened in the summer sun, and a French bodice. She had spent all winter making them, and was lucky not to have spent much money. Luke wanted to shield his eyes from the brightness, but he didn't. He forced himself to grow accustomed to it._

"_Luke, what are you doing on the floor? Mr. Layton is coming soon and you wouldn't want to have grass stains all over your clothes!"_

_Luke shook his head._

"_There's a good boy," she scooped him up, which made him realise that he had shrunk a great deal and seemed to of grown back some puppy fat, and cradled him like a baby, though his legs stuck up awkwardly. A mother always wants to treat her son like a newborn, even when he's six, nearing seven, years old. _

_Luke leant his head on her shoulder and brushed his face against her lightly powdered cheek. Make up was expensive, so she could only get cheap white powder and even cheaper red lipstick, that made her green eyes and red hair contrast with each other. She always had the same scent. The scent of Foxgloves and cheap make up. He had once gotten her some perfume for her birthday, with the money he had earned selling and delivering newspapers. She didn't wear it that often though, only on what were classed as 'Special Occasions' such as other birthdays and weddings and, mainly, funerals. Luke didn't mind so much. If she wore it all the time it would ruin her scent. The scent of _his_ childhood._

_Luke quickly found himself dizzy as she span around slowly, singing Oranges and Lemons gently into his ear. Her hand crept under his cap, and was stroking his honey-brown hair._

"_'Oranges and lemons' say the Bells of St. Clement's  
'You owe me five farthings' say the Bells of St. Martin's  
'When will you pay me?' say the Bells of Old Bailey  
'When I grow rich' say the Bells of Shoreditch  
'When will that be?' say the Bells of Stepney  
'I do not know' say the Great Bells of Bow  
Here comes a Candle to light you to Bed  
Here comes a Chopper to Chop off your He-" her singing was interrupted by a forced cough, making her stop spinning and glance off toward her side. _

"_Mr. Layton! You're early!" she said happily, setting Luke down. Luke looked at the man in the suit and top-hat. He had more money than them, but he still visited. His father always said that Professor Layton was kinder than any other richer folk, including his grandparents, because they were rich but they didn't ever bother to see them. They were too ashamed that their only daughter had married a poor man._

"_I apologise, Mrs. Triton," he said as he tipped his hat. "My clock must have been ahead of time. Was I interrupting your song?"_

_Mrs. Triton flushed bright red like a rose, but thanks to the powder only her cheeks tinged pink. "Oh no, Mr Layton! I was almost finished, and I'm sure you know how Oranges and Lemon's finishes."_

_Luke dashed over to the man speedily, his tiny legs competing to move faster. When he was in reach, he glomped Layton's leg (for he couldn't jump so high). Hershel immediately lost balance and fell to the ground. Mrs. Triton walked over to aid them, laughing. "Now, now, Luke. I know you are terribly fond of Mr. Layton but there was no need to tackle him." she said kindly. Luke scrambled back to his feet and clutched the back of her dress._

_Layton knelt down to the boys level. "A true gentleman doesn't attack other gentlemen's legs." he said with a smile. "You look just like your father, my boy."_

_Luke grinned proudly. He looked nothing like his mother, she had deep red hair and forest green eyes. His hair was honey-brown and his eyes were so dark they probably didn't even have a proper colour. His mother and father were both skinny. Luke would be too, but his puppy fat filled him out a bit. However, he was still a pile of bones compared to normal children, who had three meals a day and pudding._

"_Mr. Layton, would you like some tea? I would offer some biscuits but we ran out last week." Mrs. Triton said, motioning towards the cottage._

_Layton replied politely. "I wouldn't want to trouble you, Mrs. Triton."_

"_At least come inside, I'm sure your legs are tired from the walk."_

_Luke continued to cling onto the soft, clean fabric of the dress as the adults made their way to the cottage. Inside it was furnished with old paintings and portraits, from when the family actually had money to spend, even older chairs and tables and a tiny stove. In the hall, the ladder to the attic was forever down, allowing Luke to climb up into his 'room'. His parents had a small room downstairs._

_The only room that was finely decorated was Mr. Triton's study and office, only because the university gave him the furniture when they were clearing out. _

_Layton sat down at the wobbly table and sighed. He had often tried to give the family money, but they always refused. _

"_I cannot take that, Mr. Layton," Mrs. Triton always said, holding her arm gingerly in her hand. "Clark wouldn't like it, Mr. Layton."_

_Hershel had to always force himself to accept that the family was too kind and hard-working to take money from a friend. Despite his parents actions, Luke always seemed happy to take money. "I'm saving up! That's a little more money!" he had exclaimed, taking the two-pound coin. When Layton asked what Luke will spend his money on (little boys always seemed to have an eye for sweets and confectionery), Luke said he was saving up. When Layton asked what he was saving up for, Luke always replied "It's a secret."_

_Luke jumped off the last two steps of the ladder and stamped his way into the dining room. He sat opposite Layton, and swung something onto the table._

_Layton examined the object for a few seconds. "That's a rather nice bear."_

"_Mummy made it for me!" Luke grinned, stroking the bears dark glass eyes. "She made it all by herself!"_

"_Your mother is very clever isn't she?"_

"_Yup!"_

_Layton took another look at the bear. It had a classic bear expression on it's face, velvety yellow fur and a silk blue ribbon tied around it's next. It wasn't that surprising that Mrs. Triton had made it for him. If there was anything she loved, it was her son. She would probably jump off the Clock-tower for him._

_When Mrs. Triton sat down with a small cup of tea (that was, incidentally, for Layton), she explained that he couldn't come round on Wednesday._

"_Are you busy?" he asked, curious._

"_Clark's sister died. We have to go to her funeral."_

"_How horrid. I'll remember to apologise to Clark next time I see him."_

"_He would like that... Can I ask of a favour?" Mrs. Triton said shyly. "Would you mind look after Luke, a funeral is no place for a child his age."_

"_Of course, I have no other plans."_

_Luke beamed. He had never been to the Professor's house before._

_After the short conversation, the three went out for a walk in the forest. It was the usual schedule, Layton visited every other day and went for a walk with Mrs. Triton and her son. Mr. Triton had asked him to do it a few years ago, he was buried neck-deep in work and wanted to know how his family was getting on. Layton agreed, but it soon became part of his timetable._

_Luke always ran ahead, playing games. The adults always talked, hence why Luke ran ahead. What they talked about was too boring._

_The route often followed across the bridge, along the path, when you reach the river, hop over it, then walk along the river. After about half an hour you come across a bridge. Then you simply follow the river back up until you see the path again. The whole walk often two hours, add a couple of minutes for Luke's breathers, which he deserved for running so much._

_This time was slightly different. The Summer Route; they continued walking down the river until they met the creek, where Luke took off his shoes and socks and played merrily in the clear waters. Often, his mother joined him. Sometimes, even the Professor joined in, though it wasn't very common. He usually stood guard, but what he was guarding them from was unacknowledged. Bears? Wolves? Definitely not. The only creature or thing that would cause a threat were the small group of boys on the other side. It just so happened Luke was prone to bullying. Perhaps it was his size, or his family's lacking wealth? Possibly his voice. Whatever reason, the boys thought it was good enough to trick him into going to the end that was much too deep. The stones were slimy with wet moss, and Luke slipped, smashing the water surface head-first._

"_Luke!!" his mother screamed. An over-protective urge almost made her swim through the water after him. She didn't. Layton did. A gentleman always helps others._

_Part of Hershel screamed inside. He had forgotten to take off his shoes. An unknown feeling didn't care. Luke was more important than shoes. He could buy new shoes, although he could not buy another Luke. The water had grown cloudy and red, with hints of blue, like the sunset sky. Layton pulled the unconscious boy out the water. An unpleasant gash was below his cap (that had stayed on, surprisingly), on his forehead. The Professor resisted panic out loud. He panicked in his head instead. _Is he going to be alright?! We have to get him home! He needs some rest and--_ Layton gasped mentally. Guilt filled him half-way, the rest was joy. He felt like Luke's father. Not felt like, _was_ Luke's father. More guilt poured into him. But Luke's father was still here, working hard to support the family he loves so much. Mrs. Triton waded over, her dress thoroughly soaked and took Luke off him. She rested her head against Luke's chest and rocked him slowly, her frightened tears landed on Luke's cold jumper. Layton offered to carry Luke home, but Luke's mother ignored him and cradled Luke, still in the water._

"_Wake up, my baby. Please wake up." she sang softly. It would of sounded lovely, but Mrs. Triton's love for her son made her close to sobbing. "Wake up, my little baby. Just wake up."_

. . .

Luke woke up. Light spilled onto the floor of his room, and a very happy cat was stretched out, absorbing the warmth. He just lay there, confused and snuggled into his duvet, clutching a worn-out yellow bear with a blue bow. _That was a... A dream?,_ He asked himself mentally. It was a peculiar dream, so detailed, and confusing. It had so much detail, parts of it linked onto other, shorter dreams, before going back to the main dream. Something like that. It was too confusing to describe. Luke often forgot his dreams, however this dream stuck into his head like a spear. _It's just a _dream he noted to himself. It wasn't _just_ a dream. Some of it were real. Almost all of it were real. The only part he wasn't sure about was just before he woke it. He guided his fingers over his face and wiped the sleep out of his eyes. He noted that his face was sodden with perspiration. So was the rest of his body, making his bed clothes cling onto his skin.

A gentle drumming came from the door. Luke opened his mouth to say 'Come in!' but his mouth closed again. He tried again. And again. He began to feel like a fish, blubbering in his bowl. He knew _how_ to talk. It was elementary. He gave talking another shot and failed. Each time he tried to talk, his brain cleared. He had forgotten how to talk. He. Had. Forgotten. How. To. Talk. Hehadforgottenhowtotalk. He was struck-dumb. Great.

* * *

**~Mystery #2~**

_**Hehadforgottenhowtotalk!?**_

_Luke wakes up and finds himself unable to talk... How strange! He didn't really talk when he was coming home, so he doesn't know when this silence began. If he is Struck-Dumb, then something must of happened that shocked him into the world of silence. What could of happened?_

* * *

The door knocked again. "Luke? Are you asleep?" The door creaked as it opened a few centimetres. Flora. "You're awake! Why didn't you answer the door?"

Luke watched her as she began tiding some of his clothes away, that were scattered all over the floor. She muttered something about the clothes on the floor, then turned back to him. "Go on, why didn't you answer the door?"

Luke opened his mouth. It closed. It was beginning to frustrate him. He couldn't even tell her to go away. Something confused him. He felt almost paralysed, even though he could move about freely. He wanted but didn't want to talk.

"What's with the guppy impression?" she teased. Flora always acted slightly differently when the Professor wasn't around. But then again, so did he.

Luke flushed crimson. It was either with rage or embarrassment. She went back to cleaning. "The landlord told the Professor that there was a fight at Cambridge..."

Luke attempted to groan. Apparently, he couldn't do that is well. The last thing he wanted was to think about the fight at the college-house. Flora wanted to discuss it further. "You weren't involved were you, Luke?"

* * *

**~Mystery #3~**

_**The Fight**_

_Turns out there was a fight at the college-house, but was Luke involved? It would help if Luke would talk! Maybe it's the reason for his unusual silence...? Who knows! Someone must know. Maybe talking to the other students would help, let's hope they're not struck-dumb is well! Gather more information on the fight, and maybe we can solve the mystery of Luke's silence is well._

* * *

Luke could see the light of being struck-dumb. It meant that he couldn't answer anyone's questions! After being bothered by Flora for a couple more minutes, she gave up and carried on cleaning downstairs. He heard the radio (or _wireless_ as Layton called it, talk about old fashioned!) blare from downstairs.

"_Alfie!!!!"_

That wasn't the sound of the radio. Luke chuckled in his head as the thunderous beast bounced up the stairs. A large hairy black head poked from around the door, it's red tongue lolling out happily.

At the sight of Luke, Alfie wagged his tail and bounded on the bed, scattering the cat out the room. Luke hung onto Alfie's monstrous head, rubbing his forehead on the dense black fur. Alfie, who was a particularly large dog, licked Luke's nose. He liked the taste of salt.

An uneven tapping sound of shoes on the stairs was heard, before Flora burst into the room. "Okay... What did that _thing_ do with the shoe?" she growled, pointing shakily with rage at Alfie. Luke blinked and shrugged. Alfie didn't bring a shoe into his room...? Luke grabbed hold of Alfie's jaws and opened them, putting his head into the mouth of a lion. "..." he said (he wanted to say something along the lines of 'Aha!'), as he pulled out a chewed slither of leather off the dogs tongue.

Flora groaned and trudged out the room. Luke noticed she was only wearing one shoe.

. . .

Flora went back to scrubbing the kitchen down, barefoot. Someone had to do it, and anyway, she didn't _hate_ it. To be truthful, a part of her liked cleaning. She could pretend to be a maid or a house-keeper, working at a royal mansion for a millionaire and his son. It was a very small mansion, and the millionaire was a little poor. Oh well.

Claws clicked on the tile as a hairy thing walked into the kitchen. "Oh no Alfie! You leave my other shoe alone!" Flora looked at the dog, then at the shoe, then back at the dog. Alfie edged closer. Flora's hand twitched. Alfie opened his mouth... Flora took a step forward...

"_No Alfie_!!"

Luke grinned to himself. It was _good_ to be home!

**A/N:** _Okay, so those mysteries are linked together a bit... Just so you know the Fight mystery wasn't one of the planned ones! This chapter was shorter than planned, but the dream was longer than planned. I don't really understand the dream part myself... But dreams are confusing, so it works!! __And a short note on Alfie, he's also based on a real pet; my friend's dog!_


	3. BedMaking for Beginners

**A/N:**_ I'm surprised no-ones asked where Layton was!! Did you figure he was at work (if you did, I congratulate you. I'd love it if you loved this fiction)? Or did you just forget about him? XD Not much happened in the last chapter, I'm kinda annoyed by it now... *is annoyed at self* Anyway, Luke doesn't seem like the sort of person who is friends with just boys, in my opinion, so I gave him some gal pals other than Flora (basically, my OC's just with different names and altered pasts!). This chapter is clogged up with memories, but not all chapter's will have as many. There will be about two or three chapters with no memories in whatsoever!_

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Professor Layton, or the rest of the games (or movies ;D ). I don't own anything. Apart from this chair... Yay, it swivels!**

**CLAIMER!: I own this chair, Olivia, Autumn, Letty, Alfie and Mrs. Millare!**

**Memories**

**Chapter III ~ Bed Making for Beginners**

_Even during her dying days..._

_...She was still able to smile... _

_...Even though she couldn't speak..._

_...And then she was gone..._

_...Forever..._

_. . ._

Flora groaned as the phone rang. Again. It had been ringing uncontrollably for the past few days, and she was getting sick of it. It didn't help that Layton was struggling with the phone bills.

Luke looked over at Flora, as if to say: _Go on. Answer it. I'm not going to get it._

Flora pouted at him and quickly picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Luke's home, is he not? I will be around shortly." said a slow, depressing sort of voice. Then the person hung up.

Flora froze and turned to Luke. "I think one of your friends are coming."

. . .

_The girl looked... pretty and... what was the word? Unique? Different? More like saddening and Gothic. Her skin was pale as if she was wearing the cheap powder Mrs. Triton wore, and her dress was black and had lace and netting for sleeves. However, the first noticeable thing about the girl was that a narrow piece of cloth was tied over her eyes._

_The girl tilted her head to the side and took off the cloth. Her eyes were as white and cold as clouds and looked as if they were filled with clouds, and didn't move at all._

_The rest of the primary children stared at her, not even daring to swing their bags in the sight of the witch. Janet glided over and tugged the new girl's cardigan. "You're not wearing school uniform, I'm telling the teacher on yoouu!"_

_The girl furrowed her brow. "But I don't have the uniform yet."_

"_Why are your eyes so cloudy?" asked Bill._

_Luke watched from the school gate with Autumn, who couldn't go school because she lived by herself. The children cackled like kookaburra's as they teased the new girl._

"_Why are they making fun of her," Autumn growled under the breath. "She's obviously blind. The _bastards_."_

_Luke took a glance at his friend and at the girl. "Can she be our friend?"_

_Autumn smiled. "You're still a good boy, aren't ya?"_

_Luke shrugged._

"_Munchkin, you are a good boy. You have to be with a family like yours. Anyways, you don't need permission to make friends."_

"_Romeo and Juliet did."_

"_Only because they were lovers who shagged each other senseless like rabbits."_

_Luke stared at the air blankly. Did that mean they ate carrots like rabbits...? "You never even read Romeo and Juliet!"_

"_Oh, and you have?"_

"_We read it in school."_

"_Was it nice?"_

"_It reminded me of the story when the knight goes the save the princess but dies trying."_

"_So it's _real_?"_

"_It's made up, but it sounds real."_

"_Sounds boring." muttered Autumn, slouching on the iron wrought gate._

"_It really was." agreed Luke._

_Autumn laughed. "Hey! You, girl! Come 'ere!"_

_The girl twisted her neck and stared in the direct the voices came from, and step by step, approached Luke and Autumn. "Is there anything I can be your assistance of?"_

_Luke and Autumn exchanged looks with each other, smirking. Autumn whispered something into Luke's ear, but Luke only laughed at her and asked a different question instead._

"_Why do you wear the blindfold?"_

_The girl turned away slightly, rubbing her eye. "Because if I don't, I can sense peoples thoughts."_

"_So your reading our minds?!" Autumn snapped. "You might know something personal!"_

_The girl's eye twitched. "And that's why I wear the bandage."_

_Luke grinned. "Read my mind! Read my mind!"_

"_You are acting as if it is a good thing." the girl stated._

"_Isn't it?"_

"_It is a terrible thing. The voices echo around your head, some are mere thoughts on what dinner shall be, overs can be disturbing and make you want to leave the world for what it is worth."_

_There was a small silence._

"_...So can you tell the future?" _

"_Don't be stupid."_

"_So you can only read thoughts?"_

"_Yes," the girl murmured as she tied the cloth around her eyes. "I am Olivia by the way, it is very nice to meet you, Luke, Autumn."_

_The two children gasped and gawked at Olivia, clapping their hands. Olivia smiled to herself. Out of all the people, why didn't these two shun her? Why did they act as if it were nothing? Why? Why? Why? She felt herself being drenched with love, even though she only met Luke and Autumn five minutes ago. It was a strange, yet fulfilling feeling._

_. . ._

Layton parked the lovingly named Laytonmobile on the driveway and made his way to the house. Work had been long and tiring, so he was glad that he was home. A certain pupil had been chatting through the whole lecture, forcing him to have a chat with Layton about his behaviour. Honestly, it was like teaching a primary school student.

"Layton! Hey! Layton, looky over here!"

Layton froze, just about to open the door. His hand was hoovering over the handle. Oh god, not--

"Laaaaytoon!!"

He let out a desperate sigh as he turned around. "Hello Autumn, Olivia. It's a beautiful day today, isn't it?"

"Hershel." Olivia greeted blankly.

The tall, lanky brunette grinned. "I know, the weather's wonderful!"

Layton looked at Autumn's face. "Another fight, I see?"

Autumn touched swollen bruise around her eye and giggled. "Only a little one."

He turned to Olivia. "And I see you're not wearing the cloth."

Olivia's black hair twisted and curled itself in the air, even though there was no apparent breeze. "I sensed that I would not need it for this day. In any case, it is in my pocket for we may got for a walk." She glided past Layton and knocked on the door, leaving a two-second pause in between.

Flora opened the door and let them all inside. The two girls were incredibly happy to see Luke. So very happy, that happy isn't good enough to describe their happiness. A simile perhaps? They were happy like two girls who just saw their first ever friend.

Autumn and Olivia swiftly hugged him, questioned him why he wasn't talking, and hugged him even more when he held up a piece of paper saying '_**I forgot how to talk**_'.

"How do you forget how to talk, idiot?!" Autumn joked, punching Luke's shoulder.

"He is shocked, that is all." said Olivia, hugging his arm.

Flora smiled, feeling slightly jealous. _Her_ friends didn't love her and care for her as much as those two. But then again, Luke had claimed that because she was his friend, Autumn and Olivia were also her friends, who had agreed quickly to the statement. "I'll go make some cakes!"

. . .

_Luke ran along the street, clutching as many newspapers as he could carry. It was raining cats and dogs, he tried not to get the papers wet by stuffing some under his jumper. The newsagent he worked for didn't have any bags to put the London Times in, so he had to thrust some in his little leather satchel and carry the rest. He got paid five pounds a week, and added the tips he got from the kind old ladies. It wasn't much, but it wasn't like he was going to buy houses and diamonds. Five pounds actually seemed quite a lot to him. _

_He took out a scrunched up list from his pocket. On one side it had what houses to go to, on the other side was the weekly shopping he had to do in the market:_

_**Apples**_

_**Cabbage**_

_**Beans**_

_**Pork Hind**_

_**Tomatoes**_

_**Sprouting Broc**_

_**Onions**_

_He didn't know why he looked at the list. He could repeat it again and again without looking, yet he still revised it. Oh well, better safe than sorry. He stuffed the list back in his pocket and ran round the corner. Something crashed right into him-- or he crashed right into something-- and he fell on the hard pavement. His knee stung and something kicked his side furiously. Luke peeked upwards, stiffly._

"_Watch it you bastard! Or I'll smash your face in!" thundered the tall girl, kicking him again, only this time it was much harder. She bent down and pulled off his satchel, breaking the strap, before running back around the corner._

_Luke lay on the ground whimpering for a couple of moments, recovering from the shock. The ground was horribly wet, hence his clothes also being horribly wet. One of his ribs let out a sharp pain every time he breathed in and out. He curled up in a ball, on his side, and breathed slowly. Taking a deep breath, he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force off the pain. His body shook violently as he took a breath out. The papers had fell around him, but delivering papers wasn't going to help him. A man shouted a word, however Luke was too busy trying to stop the pain to listen._

_Fast-paced footsteps were starting to make their way towards Luke. Perhaps this person was going to help him? Or maybe it's one of the people his mother had warned him about? He clutched his body and yelped. All the panicking about the footsteps made him breathe faster. The shoe-to-pavement sound was louder, Luke let out a moan and lay still._

"_Luke, my boy, what are you doing on the floor?"_

_Luke sighed in relief, followed by a groan in pain as he tensed again. Layton stared at the boy, bewildered. "Luke, are you alright?"_

_Luke shook his head and curled up even tighter, shaking._

"_Your knee is bleeding, did you trip?"_

_Luke nodded sluggishly. "P-p-profess-hn!-sor, it-it hurts w-when I bre-uugh-breath"_

_Layton frowned and knelt beside the boy. "Luke, you'll have to stretch out. I can't see what's wrong with you if you're all screwed up like that."_

_Luke recoiled one of his legs, wincing. Layton sighed impatiently._

"_You'll need to lie flat."_

"_I can't, Professor!" Luke wheezed._

_Layton rubbed his chin in thought. "Hmm. Wait here!" he said, as if Luke had a choice!_

_Luke watched as the Professor began running down the street, only top-hat visible when he ran past tall hedges, bobbing along stupidly. A woman saw Luke and offered to help him, and that he shouldn't trust the random man who ran off to get help. Luke tried to say that he knew the man but the woman kept disagreeing and disagreeing._

"_If you ever get lost, don't ask a man to help. You only ask for a woman to help you, or a man who is with a woman. Even better, ask a woman with children to help you!" Luke's mother had warned before he walked to town. She always warned him. Always, in-case on one occasion, Luke will suddenly forget the advice and be found dead in an alley-way._

_George was a boy who loved football. He was always on the park, kicking the black and white ball high into the sky. If you asked him who he was going to marry, he would probably say: Football!_

_Or maybe Mary-Sue._

_When Luke was coming home from school, he saw George talking to a man in a very clean suit. The man had been waiting outside in the playground for a very long time. Luke saw through the window, but he didn't want to point him out because he could have been a cleaner. Or something. He could have been a special cleaner, hence the suit._

_The next day, George was boasting about how good he was at football, and that a professional football player from the Arctic thought he was super-duper talented. He was going to the professional football players house later that day so he could learn more super-duper football moves, and learn to kicky-uppy more than four-hundred times!!_

_George could boast a lot for a little boy._

_No-one really _saw_ George after that day. He vanished into thin air. Until the police from a dead, naked boy in a clean little caravan. It was _too _clean. The children obviously didn't understand because the only way you could die was from old age. That meant that George wasn't seven, but seventy!_

_The adults obviously knew what this meant. Mrs. Triton was in panic when the newspaper came with the article about little football-loving George. Luke recalled the day when she was arguing about it with his father... She used a certain word, but he couldn't remember it. It began with P-- Peddlesfile? Something like that. Luke was in bed at the time so he wasn't supposed to hear it. He didn't know what it meant, so why would he say it? Maybe he could ask someone sometime._

_Layton came running back, gripping onto his hat, with another man in a white coat. The woman who was with Luke didn't mind when the man in the white coat put pressure on his sides, but something told him if it was Layton doing that she#d be wrestling him off. The man in the white coat said that he had cracked a rib._

"_I'm not an old man!!" Luke protested._

_The three adults stared at him in confusion. Layton knelt by his head. "Luke, try and stay quiet, alright?"_

_Luke nodded solemnly. It wasn't fair! It was the girl's fault he's all broken! How come she didn't crack her rib or cut her knee?_

_The man in the white coat took Luke and Layton to a very ugly building filled with germs, or 'Hospital' as Layton said._

"_I can assure you Luke, hospital's are very clean places."_

_Luke disagreed. "But if people are ill here then the place has to be filled with germs, otherwise how do the people get ill in the first place? By visiting the _factory of germs_."_

_The nurses cooed over Luke, cleaned up his knee and injected him with this stuff that made him not feel a thing (or anaesthetic. Some people use really big words when talking to a little boy!)._

_It wasn't long until Luke was on his daily rounds again, delivering the papers and buying the weekly shopping from the market. His mother stopped him from doing it for several weeks. She wanted to be sure he was really okay._

_And there he was, standing on the street clutching over a dozen newspapers, reading through the list. He had made up a reason to do it now. If case someone added anything extra on it. It was a very good reason. Luke had to admit, he was proud of it. As usual the list read:_

_**Apples**_

_**Cabbage**_

_**Beans**_

_**Pork Hind**_

_**Tomatoes**_

_**Sprouting Broc**_

_**Onions**_

_Nothing was added on. Nothing was taken off. It was exactly the same as the week before, and the week before that, and the week before that._

_The market place was bustling with crowds. The shrilling voices of the market stalls could be heard from miles away. It's surprising how loud some people can shout. Just hope you don't have to talk to them too long, else you'll get ear-ache._

_Luke finished the shopping relatively quickly, in fifth-teen minutes, and he had delivered two newspapers. All that was left was to turn around the corner of the street..._

_Luke found himself unusually nervous. _It's just a corner, turn it already! _What if a man-eating postman had-- Luke shook his head, clearing it from the dark, strange thoughts that lurked inside. It's just a corner..._

_He poked his head around, just in case. No-one was coming, no-one was going, no-one was a man-eating postman and no-one looked as if they were going to punch his face in--_

_Luke was thrust against the wall suddenly, hitting his head on the grey bricks. "Oww, what the?!"_

_The girl glared at him. "I told you to watch it! Stop snooping 'round _my_ territory!"_

_Luke looked at her with a rabbit-in-the-headlights expression. The girl growled at him and threw him on the ground. "'Cause that's where rubbish goes!"_

_Luke resisted the temptation to tell the violent girl that rubbish goes in the bin. He would have to suffer much more disastrous consequences if he did. "Y-you took my satchel last time, can I have it back? I need it to put the papers i--"_

_The girl shot a another glare at him, colder than before. "I don't care about your fancy little bag, kid."_

"_C-can I have it back then?"_

_The girl's expression softened. "No."_

"_Please?"_

"_Stop beggin', kid!"_

"_I don't have enough money for another one, please I need it."_

"_Get your mum to get you another, princie!"_

_Luke stared at the girl as he stood back up. Where the hell did the name 'princie' come from?! "She can't afford another one! Please, I'll do anything!"_

_The girl leered, then smiled. When she cackled, Luke knew he should of re-phrased that sentence. "Okay then princie, you'll do anything?"_

_Luke swallowed. "Y-yup." he tried to say as coolly as he could, though a large amount of squeaking slipped in. What was she going to say? Probably some ridiculous task of some sort; shoot a banker, steal diamonds, murder the Queen._

"_...Will you be my friend?"_

_Luke stared at the girl in awe. "Is that it?! So I don't have to shoot the Queen?!"_

_Then it was the girl's turn to stare at him in awe, shaking her head in disappointment. "You're stupid for a prince. Then again, they all are," she sighed "So, are you up for it? Are you ready to visit me everyday? You'll get your pretty little bag back."_

_Luke smiled at her. "Okay! I like making friends!"_

_The girl choked on the air. There's a first time for everything. "Okay! I'm Autumn, this is my territory, from the market sign to the city centre's fountain, got it? If you come to the fountain everyday for a week to meet me, you'll earn your bag back."_

_Luke quickly saw a flaw to this plan. "What if I stop seeing you after I get my bag back?"_

_The girl's eye glinted sinisterly and she bent over him. "I'll hunt you down and punch your pretty little face in."_

"_Umm, got it! I'm Luke by the way, I live on Bluebird Cresent."_

"_Oh, is that so?" Autumn asked smiling at him, a contrast to the threatening behaviour shown moments ago. "That means your family pretty poor, huh? I seen the houses there! They're either titchy or made out of crap. I guess I can give you your bag now, since we're both poor."_

_Even though Luke was terribly confused on what was happening, he still smiled and smiled even more when the girl took him to an alley-way and gave him his bag back._

"_I'm sorry the handle's broken." she mumbled apologetically._

_Luke tied the two ends of the leather strap together. "Don't worry, mum will probably fix it. It was nice meeting you, I'll see you at the fountain tomorrow, before I go school, yeah? Bye!"_

_Luke waved and ran off, clutching the papers. At least he could fit some in his bag now-- Luke fell on his backside._

"_Are you alright, my boy?"_

_Luke laughed at the chances of meeting-- or bumping into-- the Professor again in the city. "I'm alright Professor," and at that moment of time, the word his mother had used flew into Luke's head, and that meant... "Professor, what does paedophile mean?"_

_. . ._

"Can I have some tea?" asked Autumn, resting her head on Layton's shoulder lazily. Olivia and Flora groaned simultaneously. Luke wanted to groan, so he rolled his eyes instead. Even Alfie let out a sigh before going back to destroying Flora's shoe.

"Oh, of course! Why didn't I think of that before..." Layton trailed off as he walked into the kitchen.

Olivia glared at Autumn. "You do not even _like_ tea."

"Oh well!" Autumn grinned sheepishly, her arms slung over Luke's shoulders as she rested her chin on his hat. "Geez Luke, you're still growing? You can be taller than the other two but you can't be taller than me!"

Olivia hung her black cloak on the banister and sighed, eye twitching secretly.

. . .

Autumn sipped the tea and spat it back in the teacup.

"That's rude." mumbled Olivia, sipping her own tea politely.

Flora placed down a small tray of cakes on the wooden coffee table. "Anyone hungry?"

The three picked up a cake each and happily bit into it.

"I made them myself."

Autumn fell off the sofa and began screaming dramatically. "AARRGGHH!!! I'm dying!!! Please tell my family, I shall never return, for I had a long, painful death."

Olivia sneakily covered her smirk with her hand. Luke frowned stupidly, trying not to smile. Flora just put her hands on her hips. "I followed the cookbook."

Autumn quickly rolled back up and sat back on the sofa as if nothing had happened. "They're very nice."

The Goth nodded. "You have certainly improved. It looks like you baked nothing alive inside it this time."

Flora's cheeks burned at the comments. "Fine, I'll go get the first batch I made then..." Flora swivelled around and headed towards the door. Something of great weight tackled her legs, sending her flying and earning a few carpet burns. "Luke!!"

Luke suppressed a smile, and clung onto her legs. Whatever happened, she wasn't going to get the _first batch_ of cakes. Good lord, no.

"Okay! Okay!" Flora wiggled free from his grasp. "I'll leave out those cakes."

"What on earth are you children doing?" said a familiar voice. "I serve you tea and you all roll about on the carpet?" Layton leant his back against the door and smiled. "You're all a bit old for wrestling aren't you?"

Luke stood up and helped Flora back up. "Mm."

"He made a noise!" Autumn glomped Luke happily, tackling _him_ over. Flora held back a laugh and wandered into the kitchen, beginning to clean the pot and pans the were buried in cake-mix, listening to Autumn's shrieks of joy and Layton correcting her "I think he was just clearing his throat...". Luke's friends were nice, but they were a handful at the same time. When Flora first went to live with the Professor, she didn't expect Luke to have friends such as themselves...

. . .

_Flora's eyes jolted awake at the sound of her name, and something shaking her shoulder roughly._

"_Flora! We're here! Get your things!"_

"_Luke, a gentleman doesn't wake up a lady like that."_

"_But how was I going to wake her up?"_

_Flora banged her head against the window sleepily while the boy and the man talked on how to wake up ladies properly. The people were lovely, really, it was just that she didn't feel comfortable talking to them. They were pretty much strangers with puzzle obsessions. The house appeared normal on the outside, a small suburban home with ivy reaching around the top-right window, so thick that it looked like it had eaten the bricks. Mr. Layton gave her a tour on the just-as-normal inside. _

"_This is my room," said Mr. Layton, opening a door to a basic room with wooden and brown furniture. "You'll be sleeping in here until I get you a room fixed."_

_Flora found herself frozen for a second, and her cheeks flushed slightly. "A-and where will you sleep?"_

_Mr. Layton let out a soft chuckle. "I'll be sleeping downstairs in the living room."_

"_Oh..." Flora's cheeks resumed their usual colour, as she scolded herself mentally for asking such a stupid question._

"_If there's anything you want to know, feel free to ask. I'm sure you're curious about your new home," said Mr. Layton as he placed her suitcase on his bed. "Hmm, I think I better change the bed sheets."_

_Flora's head had filled with questions, but she somehow picked one out. "Are you married, Mr. Layton? I was just wondering because you have a son..."_

_Mr. Layton pulled off the bed covers, glancing at Flora. "Married? No, no. And Luke isn't my son. We're not related in any way... And you can call me Professor if you wish, I've gotten used to it."_

_Flora nodded and offered to help change the covers but Mr. Layton said something about being a gentleman-- again. "Did you adopt him?"_

_Mr. Layton picked up the pillows and replaced them with cleaner ones. That question was a bit out of the blue. "Luke? No, his mother died around two years ago and his father has left him in my care for a while." Mr. Layton knew that in a month, it would be exactly three years since her death. Although he could of happily said two years and three-hundred and thirty-five days ago, he decided against it. The girl probably thought he had enough problems with puzzles and hats._

"_Well, well, well," came a strange, almost strangled voice. "Proffy Layton doin' the cleenin'. Mae eyes deceive meh."_

_A somewhat robust woman was in the landing, her witch face grinning devilishly as she adjusted her grip on the washing basket, that held mostly blue, orange and brown. "So whoo's this? Ye better introdooce us latter. And lovey, ye to change the sheets on th' mattress is well." And with that the woman made her way down the stairs, the small heels on her boots clicking with every step._

"_W-who was that?" asked Flora to a puzzled Professor, who stared at the bed._

"_Bed-making is a puzzle on it's own..." Mr. Layton threw off the duvet and tugged at the sheets. "That's just Mrs. Millare. She's like our house-keeper. She cleans and cooks for us, but instead of living here, she lives next-door."_

_Flora nodded shyly. "I-is she strict?"_

_Mr. Layton smiled and patted her head. "It's nothing to fret over, my dear. Now then, I think I done rather well changing the bed!" he exclaimed, taking a step back and admiring his handiwork. _

_Mrs. Millare clicked her way back up the stairs and poked her crooked nose in Layton's room. "Well done sonny! You can teach bed makin' for beginners! Now stop harassin' the lass and get some dinner."_

_Flora followed Mr. Layton in the dining room, which was tiny compared to the one in Reinhold Manor. The table could fit about four people at the most, the Reinhold table could fit forty_ _people. He obviously didn't have many tea-parties. The boy, Luke, was already seated, and seemed to _scowl at her.

_Mrs. Millare placed a plate of food in front of him, which he picked at distastefully. "So you're living here?" he seemed to spit out the words 'living' and 'here' with a poisonous tongue._

"_Luke, don't be so rude." the Professor scolded gently, pulling out a chair for Flora. The chair wasn't as comfortable, but she would have to get used to it._

"_That was the plan." she said, also picking at her food, just in a daintier manner._

_Layton sighed, though he disguised it as a yawn. They got on so well at St. Mystere, surely her moving in wouldn't cause such a problem in his life. Luke often complained about being bored because no other children lived near, and his friends couldn't visit everyday._

"_Why can't you get married?" Luke had pined over Layton's shoulder, almost tempted to knock the London Time's out his hands. "Then I can have brothers and sisters!"_

"_Luke, not every married couple has children."_

"_What's the point in getting married then?"_

"_To express their feelings to one another."_

"_But you don't have to get married to do that, do you?"_

"_It depends _how_ you want to express your love, Luke." Layton tipped his hat upwards, not breaking eye contact with the morning paper. He could only hope that the curious boy wasn't going to bring up _that_ question. It was easier when he was smaller, and could get distracted by grass, but this Labrador-puppy behaviour had turned into Border Collie attention. Almost._

"_So there's a way of expressing love that you have to get married to do?"_

_Layton exhaled air in relief, although he knew he wasn't safe yet. "Getting married _is _an expression of love."_

"_So what can you do when your married and don't have children that's so special?" Luke groaned. He was going to get the answer, even if it meant going around in looped conversations and digging until he got the Professor to crack._

"_...Have you seen the grass today, Luke?"_

"_I don't want to know about the grass! You're hiding something, and I know it! I bet it's written under hat!"_

_Layton folded up the paper and dropped in on the table. It was _definitely not_ written down and placed under his hat, so little boys couldn't discover the truth of adulthood._

"_I'll tell you when you're older."_

"_But what if I need to know now!"_

"_Believe me Luke, you wouldn't need to know at your age."_

"_But I'm eleven! Of course I need to know!" Luke bounced on the spot and paused when the front door clicked open. "Ms. Millare! Ms. Millare! I have a question!"_

_The woman waddled into the kitchen and put the kettle on. "Do ye now?"_

"_Yeah, and the Professor won't tell me the answer!"_

"_Really now? Ask away then, sonny."_

"_How do married people who don't want children express their love?"_

_Ms. Millare poured some tea. "By getting pregnant anyway."_

"_Oh," Luke lifted his blue cap and scratched his head. "So how do they get pregnant?"_

"_By--"_

"_I think we better go look at the grass, Luke, I really do!" said Layton hurriedly, pushing the boy into the garden._

"_Mr. La-- Professor, may I be excused?" asked Flora, pushing her empty plate away._

"_But of course, my dear. I need to talk to Luke anyway,"_

_Luke looked up. "Huh? That's not fair!"_

"_A gentleman doesn't complain. My study please, Luke, when you've finished."_

_Luke pushed his plate away is well. "All right then, Professor."_

_What Flora did next when Luke was in the study wasn't eavesdropping. It's just that she had gotten herself some water but _accidentally_ split it all on a house plant, then _accidentallydropped_ the glass on the floor, _accidentally _discovered that the study was above the Professor's bedroom and _accidentally_ fell over with her ear _accidentally_ pushed up on the glass. She _accidentally _heard everything._

"_Luke, my boy, you don't seem yourself."_

"_...I don't want a girl living here..."_

"_There's nothing wrong with ladies."_

"_...She's different."_

"She_ has a name."_

"Flora_'s different."_

"_All ladies are different. You're friends with two of them."_

"_But..."_

_There was a scraping sound as a chair was tucked in._

"_...I don't know how to say it, Professor."_

"_Flora isn't replacing anyone, Luke."_

"_I know... It's just that she's different."_

"_Luke."_

"_Sorry, _Flora's _different."_

_There was a soft chuckle, so soft that Flora couldn't almost _accidentally _hear it. "You're blushing."_

"_No I'm not!" was the reply, high and squeaky._

"_There's a mirror over there. See, your face is shining red now."_

"_I... Uhh... I'm bleeding!"_

"_No Luke, I'm absolutely sure it's your face."_

_There was a light bang. "Life's not fair."_

"_Don't hit your head on the table," said the gentleman's voice. "You might damage the wood." Another chuckle. "Why isn't life fair?"_

"_Because each time I feel happy or lucky, something always happens that confuses me or makes me feel depressed."_

"_Luke... What are you confused about?"_

"_...I feel weird..."_

"_Luke, my boy, it's perfectly natural. A lot of things will happen that'll make you confused, especially at your age when you're growing up." _

"_...I don't want to grow up..."_

"_It's mandatory to grow up, however it's your decision if you want to act grown up."_

"_...Okay then, can I go bed please, Professor?"_

"_Yes, my boy. I'm happy we've had this conversation."_

_What conversation? Flora brushed off her nightie as she stood up. That wasn't a conversation, just a man hinting that puberty was to blame. Then again, it was amazing how Mr. Layton had gotten Luke to say all those things, only by asking two questions the whole time. Flora noticed you could see the little conversation in two lights, one was a man simply explaining to a boy that nothing was wrong and there's nothing wrong with ladies (avoiding to say that the boy's a sexist pig) or the other way; a man almost playing on words, getting the boy to confess by himself, other than forcing him to tell by throwing questions in his face. Trickery. The only questions he had asked were simple. 'Why isn't life fair?' and 'What are you confused about?'. _

_Flora felt a pang of jealousy. Although she was close to her father and mother, she never really talked to them. She could easily say that she loved her parents with all her heart, but when she had started her little monthly, she was alone and there was no-one to help her. She thought it was some embarrassing thing that only happened to her. It was only when Lady Dahlia (That's right, even robots have them!) was in an even more spiteful mood because her 'hormones were out of whack' and that she 'should of been prepared because it happened every month anyway' that Flora pieced together that it happened to every girl. She wasn't sure about boys, since she still didn't know the real reason why she bled for a week._

_Flora sat herself down on the personally-made bed. The Professor was such a kind man who was giving up his own bed so she could sleep comfortably. Luke just scowled at her. She fell back, her head heavy with thoughts, and a slight part of homesickness. It was _her_ village, and she'd abandoned it. She must of fell asleep, because her eyes jolted open again._

_Knock, knock, knock. What a boring noise._

_Flora stared at the door, hoping that she wouldn't have to get out the warm bed. She was unsuccessful._

_Knock, knock, knock. It was just as boring as watching paint dry._

_She swung her legs out the bed and opened the door slowly, trying to avoid it creaking. A small boy in blue, clutching a bear, was standing at her feet._

"_Huh?" he squinted his eyes sleepily. "Where'd the Professor go?"_

_Flora yawned. "He's sleeping downstairs." she wanted to get Luke to talk to her, like he did with the Professor. It would be a lesson for scowling at her. Then again she had only known him for about a day, what are the chances that he'll talk to her even if she tricked him. "Are you alright?"_

_Luke froze, and yawned thanks to Flora's yawn. He mumbled something under his breath, so quietly that even a bat couldn't hear it. However, she did catch one word, and it solved everything. 'Nightmare.'_

"_Are you scared?" she whispered. The Professor's heavy breathing (for it wasn't technically snoring) could be heard from downstairs. Come to mention it, Luke did seem pale and his face looked as if it were wet._

"_No!" he spat out, rubbing his arms warm._

"_Then why did you come here?"_

"_I- uhh... I... I just don't like nightmares."_

"_No-one likes them," she smiled as she pictured a Goth or someone waking up one morning from a nightmare and say 'Wonderful!'. She yawned again. "Do you want to go in your own bed, or you can go in Mr. Layton's. I'm sure there's enough room."_

_Luke stared at her for a while._

"_What?" asked Flora, touching her face. There could be some sort of growth or something!_

"_...Nothing."_

"_Tell me!"_

"_Why do you call him Mr. Layton?"_

_Flora laughed and took Luke's sweaty little hand, and led him through the darkness and into the bed. A nice feeling overcome her as she lay down on the other side, even though the boy scowled at her still, there was a sense that he wouldn't scowl at her any longer. "This is _my_ side of the bed." he said cheekily, hugging the velvety bear to his chest._

_Flora smiled once more. "Trust me, I won't hug you while you're asleep," she sneered._

_Nevertheless, she fell asleep hugging him anyway, because one, it annoyed him, and two, it made her feel like the sister she never got to be._

_. . ._

**A/N:** _So yeah, that's that chapter. Once again, not much happened apart from Luke's friends drank some tea. Wait a second... No mysteries added!!! This is terrible!! Let me just get my 'big page of plotting for the damn fanfic'... Hmm, it looks just about right. I'll get chapter three up as soon as I can for my dear readers. This chapter turned out a lot longer than expected (yet shorter in some senses)._


	4. Leaves on Trees

**A/N: **_Okay, to tell you the truth, this was supposed to be chapter 5, but the ideas kept flowing through my head and... Y'know. The wait for the next chapter shouldn't be too long, since I was half way through writing it when I decided to write this one! Written in first-person, can you guess who it is? And I won't be surprised if you get a little confused. I'm glad at least one person saw the Book of Lost Things reference in the previous chapter. Did y'know they're making that book into a film?! I seriously can't wait! But... I don't wanna see it at the same time... Especially the Huntress part...!_

**Memories**

**Chapter IV ~ Leaves on Trees**

All stories begin somewhere. Mine begins here.

I was in a market in a suit. Just because I was wearing a suit, I was meant to feel rich? Did pieces of cloth hide my true identity? Did I feel _special?_ No. Never. Poverty had me in her grasp, and I couldn't struggle out of her. Every happy sound was blocked. Laughter, birds, even the autumn breeze. But then what could I hear? The grotesque shouts of men who worked in the market, children crying, fearsome dogs howling at the edge of their tether, homeless begging for scraps of food, which on most occasions went to the pigeons. The world of poverty, also known as London Market. _Woop-ti-doo._

In a miserable world, the weather follows. The sky was an oily-grey colour, to match the oily-grey city with oily-grey emotions. If there was a God, why did he do this to me? To _us._ In a bleak world, where no-one cared. Grey, grey, grey. Any colour could stand out here.

"Hickory, Dickory, Dock! The mouse went up the clock!"

The classic nursery rhyme pierced the bitter, foggy air. Why could this person sing, in such a place? Obviously the depression hadn't struck them yet, but it will. It had struck us all with a cold iron fist with not pity. What. So. Ever.

"The clock struck one! The mouse went down! Hickory Dickory Dock, tick tock tick tock!"

I swerved round. I wasn't going to do my measly shopping (dare I call it that) when there was someone who was overly happy. It only made me feel worse, to know that while someone was happy enough to sing pleasant nursery rhymes while other continued to suffer. At least the person could sing, it wasn't like an old man with a sore-throat, with his just-as depressing song to match the lifeless market.

"Oof! Aah, je suis si maladroit, s'il vous plaît accepter mes excuses!"

"I-I'm sorry! I don't speak French!" I blabbered, helping up the poor woman who I had knocked over. I scolded myself for not being more careful.

The woman smiled. "I don't either, but that's all I know! Can you be a gentleman and help me home, seeing as you were so eager to knock me off my feet." She gave a playful smirk, holding out her bags.

That's when I realised the woman wasn't a woman, but a girl. Sixteen, at the most. "O-of course!" I stammered, taking her bags. Nothing special was in them at first, then I noticed all the colours. Orange carrots, green lettuces, purple cabbage. The girl herself was attired in a colourful way. Her deep leaf green eyes sparkled merrily as she skipped ahead of me, laughing, and her cherry-red glided over her shoulders smoothly, like silk. I was uneasy on how much she trusted me already, I didn't even know her name! Surely she wouldn't trust a male stranger she had just met, who had walked into her.

"Why do you look so miserable?" she asked, her smile sleek. "Today is beautiful!"

I looked up. Oily-grey, oil-grey.

"No silly!" she giggled. "The day, not the weather! I just love the autumn colours, leaves on the trees, birds flapping their wings so effortlessly. I wish I could fly, I would fly to the heavens..."

I watched as she looked up at the sky, as if she were really flying. Flying from this horrid world. A stream of sunlight broke through the clouds and splashed down on her pale face. Once more, she turned to me and smiled. "You're not laughing at me, are you?"

In my embarrassment, I let out a tiny gasp. She was magical, the way she looked, acted, and she even took her petty dreams seriously. Her hands coasted over mine as she took back her bags. "Thank you, sir. I'll walk the rest from here. Please remember to smile."

Then she was gone. Not a hair or smile in sight. I made my shivery hand into a fist and held it to my heart._ So this is was it feels like to dream. To smile. _A smile broke into the day, for once it was my smile, from my dry lips. All the things I could of wanted, _needed_, the only thing I wanted was her. She treated me like her friend. And she was rich. Her necklace, her bracelet, her dress. Rich. Rich. Rich.

I was surprised when I saw her the following week, skipping and smiling. I hadn't been able to get her out my mind the whole time. I turned around more often, hoping to knock her down and hear her French cries, and her laugh. My dreams of her flying, with huge white wings. Swiftly yet gracefully. Her wonderful hair bounced on each step and her smile was contagious.

"Old mother Hubbard, went to her cupboard, to get her poor doggie a bone. When she got there, the cupboard was bare, and her poor little doggie had none." She stopped skipping at looked directly at me. Oh dear god, _I _was smiling back at her. It wasn't a normal smile... It was an absurd one. It mustn't of been that bad because she skipped right up to me.

"You shouldn't wear that suit!" she laughed. "It doesn't _suit_ you." She laughed at her own pun for a while, then continued. "I'm very happy to see you again. And I'm happy to see your smile, your _true smile."_

"My true smile?" I asked, not knowing the difference between smiles altogether.

"Yes! You're smiling like an idiot and you don't even care!"

My mind wandered off slightly. Is an eight-year age difference too much?

"So what's wrong with my suit?" I asked, going back to the subject.

"Well, what do you work as?"

"The history department at the University."

She stuck her pointy pink tongue out. "Sounds boring."

I let out a laugh. "It really is." I admitted.

"Tell you what!" she poked my chest with a long finger. "Meet you here tomorrow, at... Five, and we'll walk around town for a while! Sound fun?"

I gave an uneasy glance around, yet nodded. "It does sound fun."

It was fun. My admiration and adoration for her bloomed like a rose, and on the first day of winter I confessed my love to her. She was mine. My fragile little flower, whom I loved and cared for. My angel. And two years later, she had blessed me with a son.

"He's sooo smaall!" she cried, squeezing the poor little thing half to death. I was still nervous then. I was a father, and we weren't married. If anything, I hung my head in shame. "Looooook! He's so lovely! I want to teach him the Miorita! I know-- Clark? Aww, are you upset? We don't have to get married right now! We can take it slow!"

A looked at the baby and wondered what her meaning of 'taking it slow' was. Either way, we finally got married two years later, but that's when I realised that she was twenty and I was twenty-eight. My love had blinded me of the truth, but at least it wasn't like I was sixty. That would have been weirder. Her happy spirit kept up, her dreams growing larger. Money was short, though only a speckle of matter through her eyes. Her wealthy parents were against our marriage. No matter how many times I told her to help with money, she would only laugh. Our son had turned into an excuse.

"But if I get a job who'll look after Luuukkke?" she asked bending down and squeezing the boy senseless. Some things never changed. "Anyway, mother and father hate me for marrying you!"

I had to work harder so time I spent with my family became less. I asked a friend of mine, who also worked at the University, to visit them most days, just so I knew they were safe.

That's when it all went wrong. The money I saved up for the past month had gone. There was only one culprit, for it was definitely not my friend. I came home as early as I could, and screamed her name. Over and over again. She looked at me guiltily, like a dog who had just chewed up a shoe. "Can you shout in the garden?" she asked, her voice trying so hard not to quaver.

A snatched her wrist, feeling it tremble under my strength and dragged her into the garden until she walked by herself. Her back was to the house, her eyes filled to the brim with tears. "Why did you spend all the money?!" I shouted, shaking her by the shoulders.

"A poor man... is happier... than a rich man." she whispered, between shakes. Her voice was husky like sandpaper. If I wasn't blind with rage, I would of stopped. Stopped hurting my angel.

"_That has nothing to do with it!" _I yelled, my grip becoming firmer. Her shoulders quivered under the pressure. "_You spoiled little cow!"_

"Stop." she whispered. Her eyes overflowed with tears, and had lost their shine. "Hurt me later, but not now. Not in front of him. Don't hurt me. Now smile and kiss my forehead."

I looked over her shoulder. Luke was watching us through the window, curious about my early arrival. He had grown a lot since I'd last seen him. There was a girl standing next to him, frowning.

"...Okay..." I murmured kissing the top of her brilliant red hair.

So I hurt her later, just like she wanted me to, after the girl had left and Luke was in bed. I stormed out the cottage, leaving her half-conscious on the floor. I could still hear her raspy breaths. They echoed around in my brain, but instead of filling me with guilt, it filled me with even more anger.

I was alone, only with a street lamp for company... until something tugged on my sleeve... My heart raced. It could have been the neighbour, going to complain about the racket they just heard. It could have been the police, it could have been a witness of my abuse. The worst possible outcome.

My son, the boy who has to look at me twice before he can even remember who I am, the boy whose age I don't know. The boy who I had neglected over the years. And right now, he looked scared. "Something's wrong with mum! She's not moving!"

I let out an awkward cough. He didn't know... Yet. "S-she's fine Luke! Just give her space!"

"But--"

"_Don't!" _I raised my fist in one smooth motion. It only took another for my eyes to notice the boy on the ground. I had crossed the line. It's one thing to get angry, to threaten someone. It's a complete other thing to hurt them physically. "_I don't want to see your stupid face ever again! Or your mothers!"_

He looked at me, from the ground. He was small, powerless. However he was brave; not a single tear slipped out of his eye. He didn't he yelp when I struck him. He just looked at me in horror. I tried to help him up, but he refused. I knew my place, I stepped back while he sorted himself out. "Bye." I was rejected from being a father.

. . .

After a long time, and my heart had fixed itself, could I smile again. My angel was truly an angel now, my distorted mind made me smile at this is well. My angel's son seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. Seemed.

I had finally met someone else. She didn't sing nursery rhymes, she didn't imagine flying to the sky, if anything, she didn't dream. But that's what I needed. Someone who wouldn't be so selfish, and dream for themselves. I needed someone, who could stop dreaming, who could put themselves in the real world in important times. She wasn't as colourful as the angel, her hair was brown, and so were her eyes. She worked and so did I, we bought a house in no time, and had dull-looking children together. Not exactly dull. They were just... normal. How you would expect children to be. They smiled when they felt like it, they cried when they got told off, they wanted to show their parents that they could count to ten in French, they groaned when I told a rubbish joke.

I wanted no secrets kept between my new wife and I, I confessed everything. To my surprise, she brushed it of like a tap on her shoulder. It was my son who she was interested in. "So you haven't seen him ever since that day?" she asked continuously, picking out some apples in the oily-grey market.

"No, I – Speak of the devil."

He hadn't noticed me, thank god. He was walking pleasantly down the street, holding two plastic bags and a dog lead roped loosely around his wrist (hence the worst excuse of a dog trotting along side him). There was a girl walking beside him is well, also carrying two plastic bags. I hadn't seen this girl before, however I knew I wouldn't forget her. Her eyes were large like a deer, and such a deep brown. I could see them both smiling, not a care in the world. They lit up the oily-grey market like an oil painting, with the colours of happiness.

My wife smiled and taunted me a little ("You aren't _scared_ are you?") before setting off to the more tropical fruits. We had agreed to meet in the caf–

As I spun around, a girl stared at me. Intently. Not even in a nice way. This girl I _had_ seen before, her eyes gave it all away. She whispered something into the wind; it caressed those words, swirling every beautiful sentence together. The words floated into my mouth, and filled it.

"I have kept your secrets?" I whispered back, needing confirmation that the wind had held the words right. I didn't want to feel like I was playing Chinese Whispers. She gave me a cold smile, and I exchanged that for a frown. I knew nothing, she confused me. Filled my own mouth with words of her own. She knew so much, I knew nothing. I knew nothing. I knew _nothing_.

Correction, I knew almost nothing.

I did know that she had kept my secrets.

**A/N: **_Have I confuddled your brain yet?!?!?!?! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!! This is what you get for not telling me how to improve! ...Okay that's kinda mean, I take that back. If you give me constructive criticism, I'll be your best friend, 'kay? Seriously, I need it. I get more jealous of peoples writing abilities each day. I been reading a lot (again), I've forgotten to revise my Chemistry test (again), so please, make a llama smile and tell her the truth._

_...I've really lost it now... *twitch*_


	5. Begging for Mercy

**A/N: **_To be honest, I feel kind of broken... My mind insists on writing emotional crap but my brain can't put it into words. Well, it can, it just doesn't sound good. This is why I need constructive criticism! I tried not to put as many memories in this chapter, and I must admit this one seems a little fast-paced. Try to keep up with me!!_

**Memories**

**Chapter V ~ Begging for Mercy**

"_Luke! Come back!" shouted Layton as the boy squeezed himself through the bars of the iron wrought fence, and across the bumpy road. At least Layton knew where Luke would go, it was just a matter of beating the blue boy there. Fortunately, the always loyal Laytonmobile was parked close enough, however Layton also knew that he would have to run. The boy could do anything on the way and Layton must be able to stop him, instead of stopping a car and unbuckling his seatbelt._

_Luke continued to speed along streets, squeezing through another pair of fences. A waterfall of tears streamed down his face and dribbled on the grey ground below. A trail of tears. He couldn't hear the gentleman's cries behind him, or he could hear them but his ears didn't let him. He just kept on running._

_The brown-and-white cows mooed cheerily as the pair zoomed past, like those annoying, nosey neighbours who mean well yet only seem to make your day even worse, and you end up making voodoo dolls of them and stab the in the heart with the mouse's sword every night before you go to bed. Unlike those annoying, nosey neighbours, the cow's were actually cows, and not people with cow heads._

_The boy began to slow down. Dramatically. Maybe the crying meant he had less oxygen to run with, or he was just down right tired, however he didn't stop moving. Layton wasn't crying (however he was on the brink), although being the older his body was prone to slowing down, though not as much as Luke. He grabbed hold of the boy's wrist abruptly, so abruptly that Luke fell on the dirt. His eyes sore and swollen from crying, his lips trembled, he was so scared. So frightened. S-so afraid. Most importantly, so alone, even when the man who bore the top-hat helped him up to his feet and hugged him._

_Luke hung onto the Professor's neck, wailing as heartbroken as he was, his fingers gripping onto the adult's coat. "S-she promised," he bawled into the Professor's shoulder, leaving permanent patches of tears._

_Layton held onto the boy, even though his mind was elsewhere. There was a single question, very small yet so big by the power of words and situation:_

What now?

. . .

Two weeks after Luke's return (I would tell you more, but you would fall asleep. Basically, they carried on living), it was a dark and stormy night. Oh, how many people I could kill for using that sentence. But, as one author cleverly states, it creates a proper mood. And also, it makes me feel like I don't have to say that Flora and Luke were trapped inside all day. Of course Layton wasn't, he had to go work and anyway, he has a car. Since it was night, he had come home. He doesn't work in a torture camp.

Flora watched Luke and thought: What on Earth is he doing?

Luke stared into space and thought: I can't do what I just though, even if I can't remember what I just thought. Maybe I didn't think of anything...?

And Layton, for those who were wondering, thought: The answer can't be A, because that just wouldn't make sense, it has to be – Aha! Critical thinking the the key to a success!

"Luke," Flora said, now slightly worried about his behaviour. "Why are you stroking a cushion?"

Luke snapped himself back into the real world and took a glimpse of both sides of him on the sofa. Letty was sitting next to him on his right, craning for attention, and on the other side was a brown cushion, which was enjoying the rub down after so many years of being sat on.

Luke simply swapped the hand he was moving and slipped out again, staring at nothing, and everything. Letty rolled over lovingly and purred like a tiny lion.

Confused, Flora shook her head and went back to making dinner. Tonight was the salmon she got from the forever-putrid fish market; she had to remember to bring a clothes peg next time she needed some fish.

Luke had been acting weird. And by acting, she meant acting. His face always seemed stuck, like he just had too many injections, and when he smiled it looked like someone had grabbed the sides of his mouth and pulled them upwards. His eyes didn't smile. They were _empty_. No twinkle, no spark, no shine. Just his dark – almost black – eyes.

Even more confused, Luke rocked himself to his feet and began his shaky journey to his room. Or just a room. Any room upstairs. Or maybe...

Argh! Why is thinking so hard? He was beginning to think of things he had forgotten about, or things he didn't even think he was thinking out.

"Dinner will be ready in an hour, so don't eat too much." Flora said, a warm smile spread on her face.

Luke narrowed his eyes as soon as she was gone. _Yeah, right. I bet she wants __to starve me..._

It was either not being able to talk, or he was slowly growing mental, he didn't care. He didn't like being _broken_. Why couldn't he think straight any more? Even the simplest puzzle proven difficult.

"Luke don't hit your head on the table if you can't solve it." Layton had mumbled when Luke forced his forehead on the wood repeatedly.

Oh well, in his room he can stare into space and think about thoughts that he had forgotten (or probably didn't even think of) in peace, knowing that he wasn't being watched from girl's who'll point out that you're actually stroking a cushion, or men who wore top hats and could solve puzzles sleeping.

Luke collapsed on his blue bed and found a puzzle book that was trapped between the frame and the wall. He had to force himself to solve puzzles, that was the only way. People say 'don't push yourself' but maybe pushing yourself is the only way of fixing yourself. Maybe.

His room was silent. That's a very simple, yet powerful sentence. No, no, I don't think you're imagining it right. Silent. _Silent._ No patter of rain on the glass, wishing to come inside from the cold. No ticking of clocks. No clatter of pans from the kitchen (however you could smell fish), and no shouting of the name 'Alfie' as he abducted yet another shoe. Silent. Or so it seemed, because really there were all those noises, it was just Luke's ears had blocked him out.

_Silent. Silent. Silent. Silent. Silent._

The noise of silence made his ears ache, although he didn't notice until half an hour later and he had solved a puzzle.

_Stiff is my spine and my body is pale,_

_But I'm always ready to tell a tale._

_What am I?_

For those clever clogs out there, the answer is _a book_. Luke made sure to write the answer on the page when he had solved it.

_**A Book**_

Though it looked more like this:

_**ð БоЮЖ**_

Due to his shaky hands. Luke wanted to groan, flinging his pencil across the room. Both Flora and the Professor had noticed how pale he was, how he didn't eat, the fact he could barely write and how troubled he seemed at standing, let alone walking. He had noticed at least one of them watching him climb the stairs at all times.

The truth was, Luke felt too hot to be pale, he always felt full and like he was going to expel the contents of his empty stomach everywhere he went, and his limbs were shaking with anger. The anger of not being able to do anything. Luke then saw the book resting on the floor, and a mark of his cupboard door. Had he just thrown it...? He felt a little more relaxed now. Only a little. His rage was still trying to thrust it's way out.

Instinct came first, especially when your mind still thought you were holding a puzzle book.

_Crash!_

Luke found himself knelt on the floor, holding his head in his wet hands. He breathed rapidly and heavily, trying to hold himself upright. Every now and then, his head swung violently to one side as his arms contracted a muscle somewhat. At last, his mind caught up with his peregrine-falcon speed instinct. It was all so dizzy...

"No, no, no! It hurts! Please, someone! Help me!" Luke tried to shout out, opening his eyes. It came out as silence. Blood was all over his hands. Oh god, oh god, what was happening? Loud thundering sounds bounced off the walls, Luke was unsure if it was his heartbeat or just his imagination. A vase (which Flora had put in to 'brighten the place up a bit') was lying on the floor, in a jigsaw of mess. Water and flowers joined it, feeling a little left out, to make a soup of mess. His eye cried some more blood, a stream of blood, that pattered onto his hands like a light sprinkle of rain. One cheek was all red, like he had had an accident with face-paints. Argh! It stung so much! So did his hands. Everything was so dark and blurry. A flurry of colours danced before him, his blood soaked hands cupped like a beggar's. Begging for mercy.

"_Luke?! Luke?!_"

"_We need to get him to a hospital!"_

"_I'll go call the--"_

"_No! I'll get the car started, you take him downstairs!" _The people cried.

Who were these people? Wait, he knew these people, he just didn't know the voices. They sounded disguised through all the anxiety. Then he felt cold, for the first time in ages. It... didn't feel right. A loving blanket of warmth covered him. His non-bleeding eye stared at the blanket, feeling guilty for getting it's new dress covered in blood. Oh no... He was getting dizzier... Keeping his balance was getting harder and harder... He slumped all his weight on his leg's and on Flora...

Flora looked around in panic. What should she do now? Surely the Professor wouldn't leave her with him in a state like this... Would he? Nevertheless, the front door clicked open again as Layton rushed in. It only seemed like a few seconds, Layton slumping the boy over his shoulder, Flora helping every so often. It was one of those moments when everyone zoomed past, and you stayed still. For Luke, that is. Everything seemed like flashes after that. Vague memories of going outside in the rain, more vague memories of going in a car... And a big building...

Luckily, Luke's condition at that moment was classed as an 'emergency' so he got to a bed faster than the girl who had broken both her arms.

. . .

Flora stared at Luke as he slept peacefully in the clean bed, a bandage tied neatly over one eye. "Do you think he done it on purpose?" she asked, turning to the Professor.

"I honestly don't know," said Layton, motioning Flora to sit down. "I still haven't told you what the landlord said."

"Oh yes!" Flora smiled, tucking in her dress as she sat on the chair. "I'd completely forgotten!"

"You already know that some of them has gotten into a fight, although we don't know who the exact individuals are," Layton started. "However during the fight something happened, and one of the pipes broke. There was a huge gas leak."

**~Mystery #1~**

_**The Accident ~ SOLVED!**_

_Shortly after the fight broke out, one of the pipes broke. How isn't known yet, and Luke's relevance in the whole thing hasn't shown up. Since the pipe broke and the house began to fill with gases, everyone had to evacuate. If only we had more details on the fight itself, it would be more clear..._

"I could sense your peculiar waves, Hershel," said the girl who only wore black. "I should not tell Autumn about Luke's current state, the outcome would be _disastrous,"_

There was a short, awkward silence. If only someone murmured _stalker_ in that period of time. _"_Did you follow us here?" Flora quizzed, nonetheless shocked by the sudden appearance.

"Oh no, I don't even know what has happened," Olivia tugged at her blindfold. "I am only here because Jane is birthing yet another child. As if the nine of us are not enough. I fear that ten is not the number she is aiming for. I can sense more..."

Luke's eye slid open drowsily, examining the area before settling down again.

"Don't worry Luke, we're just in the factory of germs," murmured Layton, enjoying the inside joke.

"...I was wondering, my grandmother could not look after all of the younger ones. It would be kind if you could take one of my siblings home, just for a day or two. We do not want her doing anything..." Olivia searched for a word. "..._improper_ to the new baby. I'll bring her round tomorrow, you should be home by then..." Olivia spun on her heel and marched out the room, not giving neither Layton nor Flora a chance to reply.

Luke shifted his weight onto his hands and sat up. His right hand was swollen and sore.

The doctor walked in, on cue as they always are, smiling. I'm not sure what makes them so good at coming in _just_ as you wake up. Maybe they have cameras... "Now then, the Optometrist says you only damaged the cornea luckily and not-to-mention surprisingly. You will have to have eye drops if you want to regain your sight. We'll just have to make sure you don't have amnesia*. Other than that a nurse will drop by and give you some leaflets on how to keep your stitches clean. Vomiting is usual for the next twenty-four, so don't worry about that... Any questions?"

Luke blinked and stared at the man... Now wasn't time for a blank moment... "Uuuuuughhhh...." At least he could grunt and moan. To learn how to talk, you must grasp the basics, or as I call the five U's; Umm, Uhh, Ugg, Ugh and Urk!

"He's been having difficulties talking recently." The Professor said to cover Luke, tipping his hat upwards.

"I see..." the doctor murmured, turning his attention back to Luke. "So do you know who you are?"

Luke nodded.

"Where you are?"

Luke nodded.

"Do you know why you are here?"

Luke pointed at his eye.

"Do you know how you hurt your eye?"

Luke shook his head meekly.

"It's nothing to worry about. It's common for people to forget things like that... Just stay here a while longer, and you'll be free to go!" The doctor gave a smile and walked out the room, proud of himself for helping another persons injuries.

Luke blinked as a nurse walked in and handed Flora a bottle the size of a large thumb and a thin leaflet. Not much of a leaflet, more like a folded sheet of paper. "Feel free to leave whenever you want, you're not trapped in here any longer." she said, with a I'm-not-giving-you-a-choice-there's-a-man-throwing-up-in-the-waiting-room-who-needs-a-bed disguised as a toothy grin look on her face.

"Thank you very much." said Layton, helping Luke out the bed.

. . .

Olivia unlocked the door and peeked inside the room. It was pitch black, but not necessarily empty. "When will you learn to turn the lights on, Bertha? Surely you are old enough by now."

She stretched over, and turned the lights on, though it didn't make much of a difference. The room remained very dark to say the least. "You were shouting again last night..." whispered Olivia, sitting on the edge of the bed. A small girl poked out her head from underneath the duvet.

"West... He got hurt..."

"That is a shame." Olivia's hand traced over the girl's face. "Despite this, I have very good news. You are leaving this room for a while. Are you not happy?"

The girl barely moved. "I suppose I am." she said quietly. "I'll remember to stay out of harm's way."

Olivia smiled. "Good girl."

. . .

_Luke looked down. He was suffering, hanging, over an eternal pit of darkness. A light was ahead of him... if only he could reach it. Always follow the friendly light... He shook his head as tried to free himself, but that only made things worst. The rope was threaded through his neck. Each time he moved, the pain returned, sharper and more lengthwise than before. He wrapped his rickety fingers and the rope and pulled and hard as he could. If he pulled up or down was hard to say._

_It was a big mistake._

_Luke yelped as the rope snapped and he fell into the abyss. Falling..._

_Falling..._

_Falling..._

_Thud!_

"_Ugghh..." Luke lifted his head off the concrete. He was still in the darkness, the light staring into him, albeit he was trapped. Something disgustingly wet and sticky wrapped around his body and jerked him forward. The wind whistled past his head._

_If only he could reach the light... _

_He was back on the concrete, no wetness or stickiness, that was moving away from the light at tremendous speeds. Further and further..._

"_No!" cried Luke, stretching his arm out to the freedom. A broken dream..._

_A sticky rope wrapped around his legs again. Another on his arms, two on his body. Every movement was restricted, the ropes shown no weaknesses. The more he struggled, the move stuck he became. He might as well give up, and hang for the rest of his life, like the darkness that will linger no matter what, and the light impossible to reach. _

_SNAP!_

_Suddenly all the ropes snapped. The ropes that held his body dropped into the pit. Luke made a grab for the rope that was closest to his arms. The rope lost it's stickiness, and was replaced by a smoothness. It was like a sweaty hand, trying to hold you up. You kept on slipping away. Wait! The light it was closer! He outstretched his hand, the light tickling his face–_

_Luke didn't make a noise of any sort as he dropped back into the darkness. He was bound to land on something, uncomfortable or not. He clung onto his hat desperately, and held his sachet to his shoulder. The feeling of falling was becoming relaxing..._

"_Urk!" Luke didn't dare lift his head. He was on a long rock, which was balancing like scales on another rock. The slightest movement and the world would collapse beneath him. If he stayed still, maybe the rock would drift towards the light, like a hidden cloud. In a dream, perhaps. However, this was a nightmare._

_A small piece of debris also fell into the darkness. The smooth rock that Luke lay on groaned and creak. That little piece of debris was all that was keeping him up. The rock titled upwards and shot down the emptiness. Although Luke was used to it, the weight of the rock slammed into his side. He was going faster._

_The sounds of rocks, bones and pebbles crunching filled the air as Luke reached the bottom, at long last. He couldn't move... Every bone in his body had crumbled into nothing. Or so it seemed. His fingered twitched on the sturdy rocks, spiders in the dark. There was a word engraved in the rock..._

_His tapped his fingers, and smoothed them across the letters. One was curved._

_S_

_Another was ridged and straight._

_M_

_The other was just a line._

_I_

_The next was a right angle._

_L_

_And the final letter..._

_E_

_...Luke didn't understand. Was is a puzzle that couldn't be solved? Happiness couldn't be found in darkness. Not in such miserable darkness. The voices of the wind whispered to him. Each word make his hairs prick up, and his skin shudder._

"_I am alone..."_

_There was another word had hidden itself under his hand. A moment of tapping a feeling uncovered the undiscovered._

_Lost..._

_Each dot was carved, with such care. The person who carved the words in the first place... Where were they? There was no time to think. A blinding light struck Luke. His pupils narrowed in pain. "Help me..."_

_The light stayed where it was. He wasn't supposed to find the light, the light was supposed to find him! The light was so big and inviting and warm... A total contrast to the darkness. The words hidden beneath his fingertips had disappeared. Luke narrowed his eyes more... He was sure the light was a shape..._

_Wings. Huge, majestic wings. The light – a bird! A shape of a bird! The darkness closed around him, not letting the light take away it's prize. Such a good prize he was._

"_Wait! No!" Luke shivered. He could only wait._

_A completely different feeling overcome him... Instead of falling, he was being lifted. Higher and higher... This sensation was more relaxing, the light's wings caressed him, indulging him. Each touch made him want to laugh with relief and joy._

"_No matter how far you fall," whispered the light. "I will always catch you..."_

**A/N: **_Such a short chapter... Oh well, at least more happened! In a nutshell, Luke smashed a vase, went to hospital, Olivia stalk– I mean met them there, forced them to look after her sister and... that's it! The next chapter will be more exciting I promise. Constructive Crit. is always welcome! And sorry for any mistakes I made! I enjoy rewriting dreams... I can be as creative as I want there! _


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